


Full House

by PersephoneTree



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Established Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan, Established Relationship, F/F, Family Feels, Fluff, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 12:25:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3249626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersephoneTree/pseuds/PersephoneTree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I still think we should have gone with Xena and Gabrielle,” Emma says, stepping out of Regina’s car.</p><p>---</p><p>Henry insists that he, Regina and Emma attend Mary Margaret's Halloween party as a family. At the party, Emma makes a misstep with Neal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Full House

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set in a post-"Save Henry" AU in which Pan never switched bodies with Henry and everyone is living happily ever after (or trying to) in Storybrooke.
> 
> WARNING: contains an implied consensual incest relationship.
> 
> Many thanks to [pedertastic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pedertastic/) for costume ideas and encouragement.

            “I still think we should have gone with Xena and Gabrielle,” Emma says, stepping out of Regina’s car. Her costume feels too tight in all the wrong places, and the headband keeps slipping forward.

            Regina graces her with an eye-roll as she slams the driver’s side door. “Oh, would you stop? Henry wanted us to go as a family, and these were the closest match to his.”

            Emma has serious doubts about that, but there’s no time to argue. Henry is already halfway up the path to his grandparents’ porch, the furry hood of his Max costume falling backwards as he runs. He tugs it up again as Emma and Regina catch up, and grins up at them. “Ready?”

            The doorbell makes them all jump: its usual bell-like tone is now a witch’s wild cackle. Emma catches Regina’s eye and quirks an eyebrow. “That’s new.”

            Suddenly the door is flung wide. “Happy Halloween!”

            There is a moment of stunned silence, during which thematically appropriate music wafts out from somewhere inside the house. The figure in the doorway is a horrific sight. Lank hair frames a grey, sagging face, its eyes a sunken nightmare of green and black shadows. One cheek is heavily scored and bloody, as though something has taken a bite from it with vicious teeth.

            The overall impression is marred by an enormous, cheerful smile, utterly out of place and thoroughly unnerving.

            “Come in, come in! Welcome!” Mary Margaret cries, and ushers them inside.

            “Nice, uh, nice costume,” Emma manages, staring at her mother.

            Mary Margaret beams at her. “I’m a zombie!”

            “You don’t say,” Regina murmurs. Emma elbows her in the ribs and, reluctantly, shrugs off her coat.

            “Oh…” Her mother’s smile tarnishes a bit at the sight of Emma’s costume. “A… mouse? How cute.” It’s clear the little white outfit, its (very) short skirt trimmed with fur, isn’t exactly what Mary Margaret had been expecting.

            “I wanted Xena,” Emma starts to explain, but it’s pointless: Regina has shed her own coat, and Mary Margaret’s eyes widen as she takes in the skintight black catsuit and matching cat-ear headband.

            “Um. Wow. You two look – nice. Very nice!”

            Once Mary Margaret has led Henry away with their coats, Emma follows Regina down the hall to the living room. The ceiling is draped with black and green and purple streamers, and there are baskets of candy strategically placed around the room. David and Mary Margaret are as popular as ever; practically the entire town is there, and Emma can already feel the eyes on her and Regina as they enter, can almost hear the whispers start. _Guess we’re still the talk of the town, huh?_

            She spies a table laden with glasses and bears down on it with a grim determination. Ruby is there already, a miniature witch’s hat perched precariously on her dark head, pouring a generous helping of rum into a glass of cola.

            “Want one?” she chirps, as Emma sidles up.

            “God, yes. Thanks.”

            They clink glasses and Ruby smiles. Her lipstick this evening is a darker shade of red than usual, to match the maroon flounces on her black skirt. “Long day?”

            “And a longer night, looks like.” Emma fidgets at her dress, trying to pull the top higher over her chest. “Is everyone staring, or am I just paranoid?”

            “In that number, no wonder they’re staring. You look good, girl.” Ruby bumps Emma’s hip with her own. “Bet Regina can’t wait to get you out of it.”

            “ _Jesus_ , Ruby!” But she can’t help it – she laughs, and it’s like a sudden wind has swept the tension from the air. Emma gives Ruby’s arm a grateful squeeze and slips back into the crowd, ready to mingle.

            Regina is somewhere in the press of bodies, and for one guilty moment Emma thinks she should go find her, but honestly it’s easier to talk to people without her. She hates admitting it, but it’s true. Even with all they’ve been through, the residents of Storybrooke still have a lot of issues to work through with their former mayor. They’re polite enough to hide it, mostly for Emma’s sake, but it still makes things awkward.

            Whatever. Regina’s a big girl, she can handle herself. Besides, Emma’s pretty sure no one will do or say anything stupid in her own parents’ home.

            She’s chatting with Archie – who makes a very convincing scarecrow – when there’s a rustling from the hall and a woman sweeps in wearing the largest hoop skirt Emma has ever seen outside of the movies. It’s a perfect confection of green and white flounces, and it takes Emma a few seconds before she recognizes it as _from_ the movies: a replica of Scarlett O’Hara’s ‘barbeque’ dress. There are squeals and shrieks from the guests as several girls rush forward to exclaim over it.

            Belle’s eyes are bright with laughter as she graciously accepts their compliments, but Emma is already looking past her to where Henry, beaming, is dragging his father in by the hand. Neal is dressed in a sumptuous velvet jerkin, but somehow he manages to make even this seem shabby and comfortable. _Lucky bastard_. The gold crown on his head is slightly askew, giving him a rakish look, and Emma has to smile at that.

            Henry spots her and darts forward, still leading Neal, who bumps into several other guests in the wake of their son’s enthusiasm. His eyebrows rise as he takes in her costume. “Whoa. What are you supposed to be?”

            “I’m a mouse, duh.” Emma reaches up and flicks at her headband ears to prove it. They slide forward, threatening to fall off, and she curses as she readjusts them. “Who are you, Henry the Eighth?”

            “He’s King Arthur!” Henry informs her brightly. “And Mr. Gold is Merlin. See?”

            Emma follows his pointing finger to the hall where her son’s paternal grandfather stands speaking with Mary Margaret, and she does see. The pawnbroker’s costume is made of the same soft velvet as his son’s, but where Neal’s jerkin is royal blue, Gold’s simple robes are a black so dark they seem to drink up light. Tiny stars twinkle and flash in the folds; Emma cannot tell if they are sequins or diamonds. In the warm lamplight, Gold’s hair gleams like burnished bronze against the fabric. With his walking-stick ‘staff’ in hand, he looks every inch the powerful wizard.

            He also looks undeniably sexy. Which, okay, yes, is a weird thing to think about your son’s grandfather, but hey, she was way into Neal for a time, and there’s definitely something in the Stiltskin genes…

            Neal clears his throat, grinning, and Emma realizes she has been staring. She feels herself start to flush; to cover, she attempts a sly smirk and says, “Merlin, huh? Not Rhett Butler?”

            Neal’s shoulders stiffen, though, and his easy smile falters. He meets her eyes and she sees in his look a pained expression she’s familiar with from her own mirror, from the weeks of dodging and sneaking around and hiding the question of Regina from the world. _Let’s not go there,_ his look says. _Not now. Not here. Please?_

            Emma’s stomach twists immediately into guilty knots. She opens her mouth to apologize, but before she can speak a familiar arm encircles her waist from behind. “Happy Halloween, Neal,” Regina purrs. “Or should I say ‘Your Majesty’?”

            “Thanks.” Neal chuckles, but it’s clearly forced; he’s still on edge. Emma wants to kick herself. Hurriedly she downs the rest of her rum-and-coke and mutters something about a refill, ducking out of Regina’s embrace.

            She takes her time pouring, mentally replaying her misstep. She’d meant it to be playful, but her joke about Gold’s costume choice had come out with more of an edge than she’d intended. Even the joke itself had been in poor taste, all wink-wink, nudge-nudge like a dorky dad trying to sound cool. Emma thinks back to some of the choicer comments that poor Granny had tried on her just after she’d officially moved in with Regina, and winces.

            Maybe it’s because she envies Neal – not the relationship he’s in (Emma is still coming to terms with the implications of that) but the secrecy, the seclusion. He and Gold have their own private world, sheltered by that big old house with its spare rooms, by Belle’s normalizing presence that keeps people from asking too many questions. Emma had that kind of privacy once with Regina, back when they were still sneaking around, and these days, with the whole town watching, she misses it.

            But that’s not Neal’s fault, and it’s not fair to take it out on him, even unintentionally.

            Emma glances back at her little family cluster, and sees that Gold and Belle have joined them. Henry is talking animatedly to the adults, gesturing with the paws of his wild-thing suit. Regina is smiling fondly down at him; Belle and Neal listen with a solemn attentiveness to every word.

            Gold appears to be listening as well, though his expression is unreadable and his dark eyes stare off into some middle distance. He has taken Belle’s arm as a Southern gentleman would, so that her small hand is tucked into the crook of his elbow. His other hand rests lightly on the small of Neal’s back, just at the swell where the spine dips inward; one finger brushes back and forth across the velvet there, tracing an idle circle in the fabric.

            Emma remembers something else, then: how hard it had been for her, once. How she’d had to fight to remember not to kiss Regina in public, or be seen too often together without Henry in tow. How every time they’d met on the street she’d wanted to touch, to hold her, and how they’d settled for staring into each other’s eyes instead.

            It had felt so good to be done with all that, to just say “fuck it” to popular opinion and go all in. _Neal and Gold – they don’t have that option. People wouldn’t accept it. Hell,_ I _didn’t, when I first found out._

            It had taken a lot of long talks with Neal and Belle – and Gold, once – to get past that. But she had, and so had Regina eventually, and everyone had gotten a surprise when they’d found out that Henry already knew. He was, as usual, completely unruffled by the whole affair. “They love each other,” he’d said, matter-of-factly, when Emma had pressed him on the subject. “If they’re okay with it, I am too.”

            _I am too_ , Emma thinks.

            She still wants to apologize, but words haven’t helped her yet tonight. There might be one other route left, though. She turns back to the drinks table and squints at labels until she finds the right bottles. Her measuring is sloppy in the dim light, but when she takes a sip it’s passable. She adds another dash of bitters for good measure, and grabs her own glass before heading back to her family.

            They all turn to look at her as she arrives, ice clinking gently in both glasses. Regina looks expectantly at her, but Emma turns to Neal instead. “Here,” she says, and pushes the glass into his hand, then clinks her own drink against it. “Cheers.”

            “Cheers.” He looks dubiously at the liquid, but when he tastes it his face lights up. “You remembered.”

            “Of course. Bourbon Manhattan on the rocks. How’d I do?” Emma searches his face, hoping he’ll understand.

            “It’s perfect.” Neal smiles, his eyes softening. He takes another sip. “Mm. Yes. You sure sheriff is the right job for you? You’d make one hell of a bartender.”

            “Unfortunately the one bar in this town isn’t hiring.”

            “Shame.”

            “Are you taking orders, Miss Swan?” Gold’s eyes glitter with dark amusement. “I’d love a scotch. Neat.”

            “I’ll get it,” Belle chimes in, before Emma can tell him to get his own drink. “Regina? Anything for you?”

            “Well, since my girlfriend can’t be bothered, apparently…” Regina narrows her eyes at Emma, but she’s smiling just enough that Emma can tell that she’s not really that upset. _Or that if she is, at least the angry sex tonight will be incredible_.

            “Hey, I’ve only got two hands!” she protests.

            “Excuses, excuses,” murmurs Gold, and Neal laughs softly.

            As the conversation turns to other things, Emma feels a pressure on her leg and looks down. Henry is hugging her around the thigh, his furry-hooded head against her hip. “You okay, kid?”

            He glances up from under the tufted brim of the hood and nods. “It’s just nice to all be together like this. As a family.”

            Something tender and raw pulses inside Emma, and she slips an arm around her son’s thin shoulders, holding him close. “Happy Halloween, Henry.”


End file.
